


Grenade

by sparksfly7



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 01:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksfly7/pseuds/sparksfly7
Summary: Shaw is a weapon, but Root looks at her like she’s a treasure, and she doesn’t know how to warn Root that treating a grenade like a diamond won’t stop it from exploding.





	Grenade

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a while ago, in late 2015 or early 2016, and then it got buried in my Google Docs until I dusted it off today. This is my first time writing POI/Shoot fic, so I hope I didn't do too terrible of a job with our lovely girls.

Root is taller, not just by a little either. She has a good five inches on Shaw. Maybe approaching five and a half. Shaw isn’t bothered by the difference so much as inconvenienced by it. She has to pull Root down to kiss her, grab her by the face and tug her down so their faces are at the same level. Shaw sure as hell isn’t going on her tiptoes to kiss Root. She does that to reach for a weapon or show Bear a new trick. Nothing else. Root doesn’t seem to mind either. There’s never any protest in her eyes when Shaw manhandles her. Not that Shaw looks too deeply; she doesn’t know what to do with the way Root looks at her sometimes.

Shaw has always been a weapon. Sharp, precise and dangerous. A scalpel, perhaps. She hadn’t been able to become a doctor, had been deemed only to be able to fix, not heal, and sometimes she thinks that it’s ironic such a broken person thought she could fix people. Weapons don’t fix; they just destroy.

Shaw is a weapon, but Root looks at her like she’s a treasure, and she doesn’t know how to warn Root that treating a grenade like a diamond won’t stop it from exploding.

 

Root’s height makes it hard sometimes when Shaw wants to press her against a wall, which is very often, really, given how annoying Root is and how short her dresses are.

John keeps smirking and making innuendos when he catches Shaw’s eyes lingering on Root’s legs, but he wisely learns to shut it when Shaw threatens to dump his weapon collections into the river and his balls along with them.

She doesn’t make empty threats, and he knows it.

 

Maybe it’s because Shaw’s forehead is in closer reach than her mouth, but for whatever reason, Root likes giving her forehead kisses.

Shaw isn’t a big fan of forehead kisses. She isn’t even a big fan of lip kisses. Well, she wasn’t before, anyway. With Root, it’s different. She actually knows how to use her mouth, for one thing.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Shaw finally asks one day after Root brushes her hair away from her face and then presses her lips against Shaw’s exposed forehead.

“What?”

Shaw points to Root’s mouth and then her own forehead. “That.”

Root tilts her head to the side with a playful smile. “Does it bother you, sweetie?”

“Most things you do bother me. Including answering my questions with more questions.”

“And why do you—”

“Root,” Shaw growls.

“I love it when you say my name with such passion,” Root purrs, and Shaw pushes her against the table as she decides she’s had enough with Root’s mouth. Well, with it being used for speaking, anyway.

 

Some people associate height and build with strength. John, with his Tall, Dark and Deranged look (copyright to Fusco) certainly cuts quite the imposing figure. Shaw knows she doesn’t look very intimidating, given her lack of height and slight build and, of course, gender. She’s gotten sneered at many times before, _what are you going to do, little girl? Punch me? You might break a nail._ They didn’t have much to say after she knocked them out. Or shot them. She’s all about a good shot but there’s something really satisfying about getting her fists involved, literally knocking the smirk off her target’s face. A kick can be fun too, especially if she’s wearing heels and gets them in the crotch. Shaw generally prefers a body bag to high heels, but they can serve as quite useful weapons.

 

“Sameen?” Root says sleepily, not even opening her eyes. “Come back to bed.”

She’s so trusting. So defenceless. Shaw could be someone sent to kill her, whether by Samaritan or Vigilance or one of the many enemies they have. She could have a bullet buried in Root’s head by now.

“Sweetie, I know it’s you. She would have warned me if I were in danger.”

Right, The Machine. Shaw forgets sometimes that it’s constantly whispering in Root’s ear, telling her who knows what. Maybe Shaw doesn’t forget; maybe she just blocks it out. Root’s relationship with The Machine is not one Shaw will ever understand.

“Are you coming to bed?”

“What does The Machine think?”

Root looks at her with quizzical eyes. “The Machine calculates probabilities of violence, not…this.” She waves between them.

“Right,” Shaw grunts, even though she wonders what Root thinks ‘this’ is.

“Are you—”

“Hold your horses, I am.”

Shaw slips into bed and lies with a ramrod straight posture besides Root, who doesn’t curl against her for once, who doesn’t touch her at all.

“Sweetie,” Root says again, and it’s stupid how the nickname that used to make her want to duct tape Root’s mouth shut now makes her…well, it’s not so bad. “You don’t have to be so high-strung all the time.”

“I’m not high-strung, I’m just aware of my surroundings, unlike you—”

“I knew it was you.”

“Yes, The Machine told you, I know.”

“Not because of The Machine.” Root turns and moves closer so they’re touching, shoulders brushing and knees grazing. “Because of you.”

“Me?”

“If it were someone else, then…” Root pulls out a gun from under the pillow. “They would have been greeted with this.”

Shaw frowns. “Is that one of mine?”

Root smiles at her sweetly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Well, keeping a firearm under her pillow would have scared most people right out of bed, but Shaw has never been most people. For her, it’s more of a turn-on than anything.

“A girl after my own heart,” she murmurs, leaning in, and Root smiles against her mouth.


End file.
